


One of the Seven Deadly Sins (or Two)

by LynnLarsh



Series: Votron Promptober [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: All the drama and emotion and very little dick, And a few F-Bombs, Instead it is feelsy, Lance is the worst Lust ever, Like two or three, Lust!Lance, M/M, Pride!Shiro, Rating is still for some mild steaminess tho, Seven Deadly Sins, This was supposed to be steamy, like almost none
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-28 22:42:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16251284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LynnLarsh/pseuds/LynnLarsh
Summary: All Lance wanted to do was let off a little steam, maybe get people more riled up than they'd planned for a night out at the club.  Running into an old flame (and drudging up all the things he'd spent a century forgetting) was definitely not part of the plan.





	One of the Seven Deadly Sins (or Two)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm apparently really bad at this game.
> 
> So, I'm just gonna say that, when it comes to these prompts, on the days I have time, I'll check what prompt it is and write that. Because we're on day nine, and I've only done three of these things. Like, seriously. If i tried to catch up, I'd never finish.
> 
> Which means we're jumping ahead folks! Day nine: One of the Seven Deadly Sins. Or in this case two. Because I'm a multishipper till I die apparently.
> 
> Also, I told you I'd do other ships besides Klance! Can't promise I won't ship Lance with everyone though. My boy deserves all the love.

The nightclub was thrumming, and not just from the pounding bass or the vibration of the music, not just from the wave of sensory overload that made the very floor feel like it was swelling and dipping beneath his feet. No, it was thrumming with something much more potent. Sweaty bodies moving against each other, gyrating and swaying sometimes together sometimes alone, soaking in sensation. Soaking in ruthless, vibrant, passionate life. Dirty, primal, aggressive _life_.

Lance could practically taste it. He _wanted_ to taste it.

Standing on the outskirts of the dance floor, neon blue martini in hand, Lance watched the wave of humanity before him crash against itself time and time again, a wave of momentum only growing. The beat echoed deafeningly through the upscale, refurbished warehouse, the hollow space within his chest ringing from it, the naked skin of his back and arms shivering in goose bumps from it. Lance took in a breath, lungs filling deep with the smell of liquor and sweat and fake fog.

He’d waited long enough.

Knocking back the last, substantial gulp of his drink, moaning at the burn that traveled down his throat, Lance placed the empty glass among the littered bar and began to slowly stalk into the crowd.

A few eyes brushed over him, lingered on him, not that he blamed them. It was who he was, his hair perfectly coiffed, his eyes unnaturally blue and alluring. He’d even donned his best outfit for the occasion, crop top barely hanging on by a few strips of black fabric along his shoulders and waist, the front dipping low with a crisscross pattern that brought attention to his collarbones and neck. Black leather pants hugged his legs so tightly any normal person would probably feel suffocated, too confined. 

Not that Lance was normal. Or a person.

When a new gaze lingered too long, Lance returned it with vigor, winking. Brown eyes clouded over with arousal, lips parting in surprise, and Lance couldn’t help but grin, blowing the man a kiss. Poor thing looked like he would pass out for a moment, but his partner quickly swung an arm around his shoulder, lips moving close to his ear and eyebrows furrowed in concern. Brown Eyes didn’t offer much by way of a response, unless a ravenous kiss counted. His partner seemed momentarily stunned, but Lance whispered a convincing nudge in their direction, and the two fell all over each other in attempts to get closer, deeper, the other dancers be damned.

Lance soaked it in like the bone deep contentment of a warm bath or a bonfire in winter. It didn’t sate him by any means, though it did leave him feeling giddy and buzzed more than any neon blue martini ever could. He couldn’t help but long for more.

Thankfully, despite the couple currently moments away from having sex on the dance floor, everyone’s attentions were still on the flashing lights and blasting EDM coming from the speakers. It was the perfect opportunity, his chest warming at the potential before him, an ache forming low and persistent just below his navel. 

Licking his lips, Lance walked deeper into the crowd.

A hand on someone’s shoulder had them grinding just a bit more seductively into their partner. A whisper in someone’s ear left them moaning into the empty space in front of them, eyes hooded and hands roaming the curved expanse of their own body as they danced, free of inhibition or concern. A kiss on someone’s shoulder had them leaning into a stranger’s embrace, lips meeting in a messy and unexpected kiss that wasted no time turning heated.

With each touch, each word, Lance felt that ache inside him spreading, his body ringing not in his own pleasure, but theirs. It was delightful, his own moan lingering warm and wanting against the neck of the woman in front of him, full lips brushing like a tease against warm skin damp with sweat. 

It was heavenly, like breathing in the bouquet of a fine wine, and Lance indulged a little, licking a stripe across her pulse point.

But just as quickly as she was in his arms, she was gone. Not because she’d shifted back into the crowd--in fact, she looked almost as dazed as he was at the abrupt lack of contact--but because he was suddenly being pulled into the broad chest of another person. A man, if he had to guess, judging by the strong arms currently wrapping around his waist. Without meaning to, Lance found himself leaning back into it, biting his lip and closing his eyes.

A pulse of his own need rushed from deep within his core and out, reaching in tendrils through the crowd, the energy and passion of those within his radius getting more wanton, more eager. Not that he noticed, too distracted by the feel of teeth scraping against his neck and just behind the hollow of his ear. 

Lance couldn’t help but arch into it, something deep and dark and animalistic slowly forming as the man behind him rolled his hips, tightened his arms, caged Lance against his body just tight enough to make a point, but loose enough to also show that Lance could pull away if he wanted. Which he didn’t, couldn’t ever imagine wanting anything less. Not when it felt so natural, so hot and brilliant and filthy and—

Lance wrenched himself out of those strong (perfect, wonderful, sexy, _infuriating_ ) arms with a pained gasp. He whirled around, eyes burning bright with complete disregard for the humans still half dancing half writhing around him.

“That was a dirty trick,” he hissed, barely hearing the music anymore. He raised his head enough to glare daggers at the scarred and absolutely gorgeous face grinning down at him, simultaneously familiar and unfamiliar all at once. Bastard even had the gall to look smug. 

“Nice to see you too, Lust,” Pride purred, walking once again into Lance’s space and wrapping an arm back around his waist as if it belonged there. And maybe it did, at one time or another, but not anymore. So Lance shoved the arm away and ignored the dull throbbing between his legs at the simple but tantalizing loss of skin on skin.

“It’s Lance now,” Lance huffed. “What are you doing here?”

“Lance, huh?” Pride ignored him, reaching out to brush some messy strands of hair out of Lance’s face. That damned rush of adrenaline and arousal coasted once again through his veins, the way it only did around other Sins. Around Pride. He pushed it down and away. That was in the past now; no use drudging up bad habits. “Where did that come from, I wonder?”

“A boy from Cuba,” Lance answered without thinking. “A vibrant soul filled with good intentions and a filthy mind eager for release. He was a good lay, so I chose to remember him.”

“Like I was a good lay?” Pride asked, eyebrow raised as if already knowing the answer. ( _Of course not, no one ever could be._ ) But fuck if he was going to admit that after all this time. 

So instead he just said, “Better,” and stuck out his tongue like a child. Thankfully the club was dark, the red of his cheeks hidden by the flashing lights and pulsing shadows. 

“Hm,” Pride smirked anyway, eyes knowing. But he didn’t comment, instead saying, “Lance then. I’ll have to thank the boy from Cuba for your new… body.” Pride ran his fingers down Lance’s exposed midriff, raising goose bumps along tan skin. Again, though shakier this time, Lance pushed that hand away.

“Enough,” he hissed, though the strain in his words echoed even amidst the noise.

Pride held up his hands with a soft chuckle, a resigned shake of his head. “All right, all right.”

Lance nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. “Thank you, Pride.”

“Shiro,” he said in return, keeping his hands to himself. Which still bothered Lance for some reason, like an itch too far below the skin.

“Excuse me?”

“They know me as Takashi Shirogane here. Shiro for short,” he explained without much prompting. Then, with a grin as proud and smug as his namesake, he added, “I own this nightclub. And seven others throughout the country.”

“Oh,” Lance blinked, swallowing hard. Well shit. He hadn’t thought to do some research about this city beforehand. Who would have thought though, right? They’d managed to avoid each other’s paths for nearly a century. 

But… all things considered, it was bound to happen eventually. Didn’t mean he’d admit his mistake that easily; Pride— _Shiro_ didn’t need a bigger head.

“Sounds like Greed’s rubbing off on you,” Lance huffed, a bit petulant sure, but he was allowed; Shiro had stepped in and ruined an opportunity for a perfectly good Greek Pantheon level orgy. Lance glanced around the nightclub filled with all the willing bodies he'd been so close to pleasing and frowned. Pity. “Are all your nightclubs this small?”

Despite the jibe, Shiro just laughed. The club may as well have been dead silent for the way the sound reached beneath Lance's skin, between his ribs, and wrapped around that empty place inside his chest where a heart used to beat loudly and passionately ( _and just for him_ ). But that was a long, long time ago. A time better left forgotten.

So Lance chose not to react much to that laughter beyond clicking his teeth and finally venturing out of the crowd, back to the bar. Another neon blue martini was waiting for him upon approach, the woman winking devilishly at him, and if it had been any other time, he would have pounced. But with the obvious feel of Shiro’s presence behind him, he couldn't even bring himself to wink back. 

She seemed disappointed at first, but then much to Lance’s dismay, seemed to notice Shiro’s hulking (and honestly possessive) figure looming close, the bartender smiling in an understanding that she mostly certainly _did not have_. Lance knocked back the martini in two swallows, motioning for another one. Just because Sins couldn’t get drunk didn’t mean he wasn't going to damn well try. 

Tonight he’d earned it. Maybe the gods of the underworld would agree.

“Those can’t be good for you,” Shiro hummed, and Lance could hear the grin in his voice, feel the vibration of a quiet laugh as he leaned himself in close, pressed arm to arm. Lance did his best to ignore the way it made his whole side feel warm.

“ _You’re_ not good for me,” Lance mumbled under his breath, grabbing the third martini out of the bartender’s hand before she even had a chance to set it down. The action had the unfortunate side effect of accidentally splashing sticky, blue alcohol all across his fingers. “Where did this Shiro identity come from anyway?” Lance asked, raising his dripping hand towards his mouth.

His fingers never made it to his lips.

Shiro’s hand wrapped lightly around his wrist instead, holding it in place as he bowed his head down, pulling Lance’s long fingers into his mouth with a gentle suction that made his toes curl. 

The nightclub stopped existing for a second.

Fuck, the whole _world_ stopped existing, everything in the universe coalescing into the singular sensation of Shiro’s tongue dipping in between the webbing of his fingers. 

That same pulse of arousal and need from before washed over him again, this time tinged with a reluctance that only fueled the spreading wildfire. Like tiptoeing the line of a personal taboo. He shouldn’t want this, shouldn’t _need_ this, but with every scrape of Shiro’s teeth against his knuckles, every swipe of his tongue along sensitive skin, Lance forgot. Even as the bartender excused herself from the sight, the aura of Lance’s aroused presence too much for any human, he still forgot. With a moan that escaped past his lips and eyes that became heavy-lidded and clouded with want, he forgot and forgot and forgot.

That is, until Shiro pulled away, Lance’s fingers falling free from his pink and spit-slicked lips, a thin string of saliva clinging like a spider’s thread until Shiro finally snapped it with distance. 

Lance swallowed, looking down to his own trembling hand and then back up to Shiro. His breath caught in his throat. 

Shiro’s eyes were positively feral. His grin even more so as he all but growled the words, “A good lay.”

Even though they didn’t particularly make sense, they still struck like a spear straight through Lance's core. He was pretty sure he was panting, the ache between his legs making him whimper as he did his best to adjust on the uncomfortable bar stool.

“What?” Lance heard himself half choke, half whisper, too overwhelmed and suddenly needy to be ashamed of his inability to follow. Even the way Shiro leaned in, expression smug and hungry and filled with everything Lance should find annoying ( _not_ arousing), still managed to set his blood to boil. 

“My name,” Shiro explained, leaning in to nibble teasingly at the lobe of Lance’s ear. When he continued in a whisper, the hot breath of it spread like a caress against Lance’s neck, soothing his eyes closed once more. “Takashi Shirogane,” Shiro moaned. “I got it from a good lay.”

It was surely a tease, a ploy, Lance’s own words used against him, but it had the desired effect. 

Lance’s eyes snapped open, body going taught and tense with a sickening combination of rage and desire. What had he looked like, this Takashi Shirogane? Had Pride taken bits and pieces of him as his own like Lance had? Is that where the muscles came from? The white hair? The scars? Had he claimed Takashi’s body or had Takashi claimed his? Did they get to know each other’s bodies over time or was it a singular moment in Takashi’s brief existence? If so, had it truly been so memorable?

_More memorable than me?_

All of these thoughts and more rushed across his mind in less than a second, Lance’s heart trying to rip its way out of his chest in anger and misery and arousal and need and—

“Now you know how it feels,” Shiro was all of a sudden murmuring against the corner of his mouth, humming at the back of his throat like a growl or a purr, an inhuman sound meant to say something. Something words couldn’t. Lance still felt riled up, confused, angry, stricken, hungry, too many things to count, but then, in a gesture too chaste to be anything other than intimate, Shiro kissed him. 

Lance melted into it instantly, couldn’t have fought the natural desire to do so if he tried. Shiro’s lips were so familiar, filled with countless memories and spoken thoughts. When the kiss deepened, so did that ancient presence long buried within them both, filling Lance with a need so fierce and pronounced, it couldn’t even be called arousal anymore. 

It stripped Lust of who he fucking _was_ , until his very essence couldn’t help but reach out towards Pride’s in a desperate plea for completion.

“I’ve got you, baby,” Pride purred, the words not only sinking into Lust's mouth, but into every crevice of his being, like a paralytic, draining his strength to resist. If he had a soul, Pride was devouring it with every swipe of tongue inside Lust’s mouth and worry of teeth against his bottom lip. At one point, Pride’s hand found its way into the hair at the back of his scalp, fingers tightening in the short strands enough to tug. Enough to maneuver Lust into an even deeper, even more ravenous kiss. 

With his awareness muddled and his focus jumbled, each of Pride’s touches became dreamlike, both vivid and also ethereal, burning into his skin like a brand while also intangible and impossible to hold on to for more than a breath. Lust was pretty sure he was drowning, suffocating, Pride’s voice luring him out of the shadows only for his touch to send him spiraling back under again.

And yet, somehow, it was the feel of Pride’s hand reaching past the waistband of his now unzipped pants that finally brought him out of it.

“P-Pride,” Lust whimpered on a panting breath, reaching down to halt his hand at the same time that he leaned back, away from the kiss, away from the warmth, away from the confusion. “Shiro…” he tried again, and gods… his voice sounded so weak, so _used_. He hated it almost as much as he missed it. 

He hated Pride almost as much as he missed him. And nowhere near as much as he loved him.

“Please don't,” Lance mumbled, burying his face in Shiro’s neck and tangling their fingers together. He let his voice crack and break, let Shiro hear the extent of the need he’d been ignoring for so long, so long. Because he didn’t want to ignore it anymore. He didn’t think he could. Not again.

“It’s okay, baby, it’s okay.” Shiro pulled him close, rubbing soothing circles into the small of Lance’s back. But Lance needed him to know, needed him to _understand_ this time. 

“I can’t… I can’t do this again,” Lance sobbed through his teeth, a shattered sound. “I won’t.”

“I’m not going anywhere. Not this time.”

Be it lingering remnants of Shiro’s presence around him or the overwhelming poignancy of those words, but Lance couldn’t help falling into the wonderful, terrible memories. Of their passion, their intimacy, their fallout, their distance. Time made one forgetful, but hardly had the power to heal. Only to bury. And those words, Shiro’s voice laced thick with intention and truth, ripped everything back to the surface.

Without realizing when it had happened, Lance suddenly found his hands falling into a loose grip at at the fabric of Shiro’s shirt. He felt so tired, barely able to shift his face out from where it was still pressed into Shiro’s neck. 

The club was empty. 

Though when the crowds had filed out, he had no way of knowing. He hadn’t even heard the music stop. Made sense though, considering all of the negativity he knew he was currently emitting into the atmosphere around them both; panic and misery were hardly the prime concoction for a lustful (or even enjoyable) evening. 

For some reason, that thought made him chuckle. Then, the way Shiro tensed around him, confusion and worry palpable in his presence, made him laugh outright. Shiro’s aura prickled with confusion, and Lance leaned back enough to see his face, still giggling despite himself. 

“What’s so funny?” Shiro frowned, and the look just made Lance laugh harder.

“Us,” Lance eventually managed to get out. “You. _This_. Its—” he choked on a breath, feeling Shiro’s aura settle, soothed by Lance’s smile and laughter and the warmth slowly filling his chest and—

Oh. Oh gods it had been so long he almost missed it, and yet it had settled back into his mind, body, and heart with an ease that should have been frightening, not soothing. Shiro noticed it too, their essences tangling together, wrapping around the two of them and becoming perfectly, if not delicately, intertwined. It was as familiar as it was brand new.

They’d both changed so much, and yet having Shiro’s essence around him, washing over him, was as easy as if they’d never stopped sharing one heart.

Lance cleared his throat, scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck, knowing that Shiro could feel his nervousness the same way he could feel Shiro’s lack of judgment. And his cautiously increasing happiness.

“It’s, um… it’s not very sexy,” Lance finished his practically forgotten thought just to have something to say. Shiro raised an eyebrow at him but smiled fondly, no longer smug, no longer proud.

“You’re always sexy,” Shiro hummed, leaning in but not closing the distance. Waiting for Lance to make that leap.

“And you’re always full of yourself,” Lance shook his head in attempts to hide his grin. Shiro felt it anyway.

“I’d rather be full of you,” Shiro winked, aiming for seductive but intentionally missing the mark. Lance laughed loud and long, smacking Shiro with enough strength it may have bruised a normal person.

But they weren’t normal. And they weren’t people.

Once Lance’s laughter had faded, giddiness still coursing like its own buzz beneath his skin, he leaned in close. His lips brushed just barely against Shiro’s, breathy and still filled with humor. “That was awful. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

Before Shiro could object, Lance covered that fraction of remaining distance and kissed him. 

It was deep and languid and filled not with arousal but with intimacy. Lance melted into it in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to all night, hadn’t hoped to all century. And when they broke for air they didn’t need, looking into each other’s eyes as their unspoken promise might linger within, he knew Shiro felt the same.

“The shame would be worth it,” Shiro whispered, all sense of pride vanishing from his essence and leaving him as raw and vulnerable as Lance was.

Being together always took away the very core of their beings. And yet.

For the look in Shiro’s eyes, for the taste of him on his lips, it was worth it.

For the way Shiro called out to him ( _Lance, Lust, Baby, Mine_ ), it was worth it. 

Sins weren’t meant to come together like this, pulled as they were to their own purposes, their own demands. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t possible. Despite the lore, despite the doubts, despite everything that made them fight and fuck and run and hide, that didn’t mean they shouldn’t try again, right?

That didn’t mean it wasn’t worth it, right?

Lance placed a hand against Shiro’s cheek, reveling in the way his Pride, his _Shiro_ leaned into the touch, completely shameless in his intimacy, and yeah.

Lance could say, without a doubt. Definitely worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as always for all the kudos and comments. And once again, if any of these oneshots stick out to you, definitely say so. I don't know how to leave well enough alone, so the likelihood of coming back to any of these universes is high.
> 
> See you soon! Hopefully. Definitely at least a handful more times, though I won't tease you by pretending I know when...
> 
> Till... next time!


End file.
